


Not the Fighting Kind

by nonnie325 (orphan_account)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nonnie325
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just about all of the Enterprise crew has gotten into at least one fight, and Bones has the medical files to prove it. But Chekov isn’t the fighting kind. (AKA Chekov gets the shit beaten out of him to protect McCoy’s good name).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Fighting Kind

It had been three years since the Enterprise and her crew had set off on their mission, and Leonard McCoy had seen quite a few fights.  Most of them were on shore leave, although one shouting match between two ensigns had nearly escalated to pure physicality before Uhura had intervened, smacking one of the men on the back of the head and dragging the other off by the ear. They were young and stupid and full of testosterone, and Bones wasn’t surprised.

The others happened while on shore leave, because _most_ of the crew had the good sense not to let a fight break out while on board. He had watched as nearly everyone on the bridge and engineering crew got in tiffs with others; some from the same crew, others from the planet they were on. Jim had the most racked up, by far. Far too many times, Bones had turned around from tending to another crew member to see that smug smile and a face caked with blood, and it was all he could do not to hit him one more time himself. He would drag him by the arm to sit on a table and say, _“Your damn pride is going to get you killed one of these days, Jim”_ , before stabbing him harder than strictly necessary with a hypo. 

As for the others, he could tally off one for each of them. Scotty had taken a native down once for insulting the Enterprise. Sulu had gotten into a minor scuffle with an ensign for reasons so petty that Bones couldn’t even remember, and Uhura had, on one occasion, punched Jim square in the nose. An offhanded remark about how he “could have gotten it” landed him with a bloody nose and a spinning head and gave Bones somewhere around two weeks of gloating material. If anyone would have ever asked him, he would have said the least likely candidate for fighting would have been Spock, but then he’d remember how he’d nearly killed Jim right before their first year, and thought again. Then his thoughts landed on the young Russian, Chekov. He was seventeen and full of energy, but he was also bright and passive and as far as Bones new, never had a bad word to say about anybody.  So when the teenager was literally dragged into medical bay by two other crewmen, Bones had…questions. Obviously.

“Good god, kid, what happened to you?” he spoke more to himself than to Chekov as he lay him down gently, supporting his head. The boy sported a busted lip, a black eye, and a rather nasty gash horizontal to his hairline. As such, his curls were matted with blood and it hadn’t stopped dripping down his face and onto his uniform. Bones poked and prodded and lifted his top to find more bruises littering his ribs and back.

“You look like you just stepped out of a slasher movie,” Bones said quietly. Chekov’s eyes ticked over to him once and he chuckled weakly, but the laughter turned into a groan and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Bones paced around to the other side of the table and picked up a hypo from the tray beside it, checking the dosage before leaning down and pressing it to the side of Chekov’s neck.

“I’m sorry, this is gonna hurt, but only for a second,” he said. He pressed the hypo into his neck and felt a pang of guilt when Chekov writhed, then relief when he relaxed.

 “You’re gonna pass out now,” he said in a matter of fact sort of tone. Chekov looked at him one more time before his vision blurred, and Bones was the last thing he saw before his world went black.

 

 

When Chekov came to later in the evening, the first thing he noticed was that he was still in pain. The next thing he noticed was Bones, standing next to his bed – when had he been moved from the table to a bed? – and checking his vitals. He lifted his head up no more than an inch before the pain made his vision white and his head dropped back down of its own accord.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Bones muttered this without looking away from the vitals screen. He punched in a few things then turned to organize his tools on the medical tray near them.

“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you, kid. Your pain medication wore off a long time ago. I’ll give you more, don’t worry, but first,” Bones straightened up and turned to face Chekov again, crossing his arms and adopting a stern expression, “we gotta talk.”

Chekov grimaced, but nodded slightly. He made a move to sit up, but Leonard’s hand connected with his chest and he pushed him back down.

“What did I just say, damn it...stay still,” he spoke roughly, but his touch was soft. He guided Chekov back to his pillow and kept his hand on him, and continued, “you have three broken ribs and your face might as well be a goddamn Picasso painting, so you’re not going anywhere for a while. Now tell me – what in the hell caused you to get into such a bad fight?”

“Ehm..Captain Kirk hasn’t told you?” Chekov asked tentatively. Bones shook his head, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding the boy’s legs.  “Haven’t spoken to him,” he said, “because I wanted to hear it from you.”

Chekov swallowed thickly and anxiety settled in his stomach. It was embarrassing, being stuck here and forced to explain himself like a child. Though when he looked back on the events of the previous day, he had rather acted like one.

“I was—“ he started and it came out dry. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I was just..sitting at the bar. I was having dinner, and a drink. I was..tired, so I was getting up to leave, to back to my quarters, when I overheard…”

He trailed off and looked away, setting his jaw. Bones saw anger creep into the boy’s eyes, and it threw him off a little. He didn’t remember really ever seeing Chekov angry. Annoyed, yeah. Tired? Sure. But angry? Not in the real sense; not like this. He was just opening his mouth to urge the kid along when he started again.

“Some… _idiots_ at the table next to me—they were part of the crew, Doctor! They said..horrible things.”

Bones scowled. “What kind of things?” he asked. Chekov gulped visibly, trying to swallow the anger that was coming back up from the incident.

“Just…how you were a shoddy doctor. How you shouldn’t have even been allowed on the Enterprise. You weren’t…worthy.”

Bones let out a low huff that was partly a scoff and partly laughter. “People say a lot of things,” he said, “doesn’t mean they’re true.” He rested a hand on the boy’s leg. “I don’t need you fighting for my honour, kid. I don’t give a damn about what people say about me, and you shouldn’t either.”

Chekov’s face flushed and suddenly the thin sheet covering him was the most interesting thing in the room.  He twisted it in his fingers and cleared his throat before speaking again, and merely whispered, “I know.”

All at once there was a hand on his, light but firm. Startled, he looked up and he didn’t think he could blush any harder. Bones wore a small smile and his eyes were kind.

“Next time,” he said, “ignore them. Any more scraps like that could land you in a lot of trouble.  Do me a favour and stay _out_ of that trouble, alright?”

Chekov let out a shaky laugh and nodded. Bones patted his hands and stood again. "A man of my word," he mumbled, smirking, and pressed another hypospray against Chekov's neck as gently as he could. Chekov melted into the sheets as the medication took him, and held on to the last few words the doctor said to him before slipping under. 

“You’re too good for anger like that, kid,” he said, "and you're not the fighting kind." 


End file.
